Red Wine
by The Erudite
Summary: Couples can often learn a lot about one another in the first year of marriage. (Rated M for highly suggestive themes. Nothing explicit, but definitely mature subject matter, exploited humorously in a very immature way). One-shot.


Sunlight gently streamed in through the walls of the tent, casting a pale gold window on the pair joined on the cot in its center. A young tactician felt his eyes spread open and inhaled like a vacuum in preparation for a large and grandiose yawn, the sound of which he stifled for the sake of present company. He glanced down and smiled: his new wife, Anna, had her ruby-red hair strewn all about the cot and over her face, some even spilling onto the tactician's shoulder, had her right hand wound into his, draped over his stomach. He felt his muscles tense and twitch as he desired to stretch, but he held back the urge, not daring to move and shake his beloved out of her contentment. He looked to her face, pleased by the softness of her closed eyes and the serenity of the faint smile on her unconscious lips. This was well and truly the only way to wake up in the morning.

Of course, nothing good could last. The flap of the tent swung open, and Robin could see by the force behind it that it wasn't just a stiff breeze come to greet him on this nigh-perfect morning. He was greeted by the familiar sapphire trimmed hair of his captain and comrade. "Robin," the Ylissean prince summoned, appearing to assume that there was no way his tactician could still be resting. In fairness to Chrom, however, on just about any other day, he would have been right.

"Yes, Chrom?" Robin tried to whisper while sounding respectful. As the lord entered, Robin used his eyes to indicate his sleeping wife without moving.

Apparently, the discovery of his friend in this position amused the prince, because he smiled, "A few weeks of married life and you've already become so unprofessional? I'm disappointed, Robin."

"I don't think you have any right to talk," the tactician replied quietly, "You can't keep your hands off Olivia. I don't think I saw her not blushing for almost twelve days after we saddled back up."

"Either way," he chuckled, "I need your help planning our route, so time to say goodbye to the honeymoon."

At this point, Anna sucked in a breath and yawned, stretching out her arms and legs and coming very close to accidentally punching her husband. She smacked her lips once or twice before letting her eyes slowly part and lowering her face close to her husband's ears. "Wha's goin' on, baby?" she slurred sleepily.

"Our venerable commander has need of me," Robin drawled with palpable irony.

"Mm," she nuzzled between his neck and shoulder, "Can't you tell him to stuff it for a few minutes?"

"I'd advise against that," Chrom tapped his foot.

Anna flipped to face him quickly, her hair flying over her face, forcing her to stroke it out of her eyes, "Chrom! Er, captain! Sir! What, uh... what can I do for you?"

"You can release my tactician so I can get some work done this morning," Chrom eyed her while cocking an eyebrow.

"Right," she murmured, scooting over on the cot to give her husband ample room to leave. Robin pulled himself up and walked to a coat hanger in the corner of the tent to snag his favorite cloak, which he slipped on quickly, and ran a few fingers through his hair to straighten it before giving one final stretch.

"I should be back in just a bit, if you care to wait up for me," Robin smiled back at his wife teasingly. Chrom smirked with a pang of distaste.

The merchant was still waking up and rubbed her hands on her face, "Uh... uh, no, I... I gotta open up the shop..." She yawned again.

"I'll drop by later," he concluded, feeding her a big smile.

"Wait," she demanded, puckering her lips just enough so that her husband got the message.

The tactician looked aside at his commander, blushed, rubbed his neck, and walked over to his wife, bending down to kiss her. "See you soon," he breathed weightily, hating to have to break the embrace.

"Don't keep me waiting," she answered coyly, putting a finger to her chin to accentuate her wry smile. Robin promised to comply and followed his commander out of the tent. Anna, meanwhile, rubbed her face a bit more before shaking her head all at once, blinking a few times to make sure she was really awake, and that she wasn't about to fall right back asleep and ignore her work. This preparation completed, she got to her feet and scanned the ground covered by the tent, not finding her target. The merchant frowned and scratched her head, but then noticed that the hair tie had been delicately placed on the small writing desk belonging to her husband; who could have put that there? The redhead smiled to herself: as much as the tactician tried to play things cool, he was always making these small gestures for her. Three days after their honeymoon, he had started cleaning her boots with a wet rag every evening, then two and a half weeks later, he had taken over her end-of-day inventory duty, and just a week ago, he had begun taking her glasses of water, tea, lemonade... whatever he could find to bring to refresh her in the middle of the day. It was cute that he still thought he needed an excuse to come see her.

Last night had been a rare treat, however, because while Robin was a loving husband, he was also a reasonably strict adherent to the rules of the camp, and rules in general; he didn't like to upset Chrom or the other soldiers, because to do so was selfish, or so he said. It wasn't that Anna bore these people any ill will, she just wished her husband cared less about their feelings and rules so they could be together more often. It had been decided that even married couples shouldn't sleep in the same tents, as too much time spent lazing about in the company of loved ones could dull one's sense of urgency or duty and lead to catastrophic consequences for the rest of the camp. Robin had agreed with this analysis, and since then it had been a pain to squeeze in any alone time with him. Anna was crafty, however, and was able to make him sacrifice his strict discipline every now and again, occasionally through a bit of arguing and rationalization, but more commonly appealing to the tactician's less logical urges. It pleased her greatly when she saw him sweat in an effort to hold those feelings back; that was when she knew she had gotten to him.

The redheaded merchant finished tying up her hair back into its signature ponytail. It looked a little ragged, but her hair was normally pretty wild, so she doubted anyone would notice. Satisfied, she turned to leave, but something on Robin's desk drew her attention from her peripheral vision. She turned back to the desk and saw the corner of a page sticking out from the bottom of the desk's two drawers. It was unlike Robin to store anything so clumsily, much less a document, and so curiosity got the better of the merchant. She slid the drawer open quietly, as if anyone could have actually heard the minute sound it made, and slowly, with an impish excitement running through her arm, made to remove the parchment. What she discovered was not, however, a misplaced note as she had imagined, but rather a tag on a single, full bottle of red wine. On it's own, this would not be strange; Robin himself wasn't a drinker, but Anna sometimes brought beverages with which to keep herself entertained and Robin would do her the courtesy of storing them to avoid having them confiscated (having a personal store or alcohol in Chrom's camp was a big no-no).

But Anna hadn't purchased this bottle, and as if to reinforce that suggestion, she noticed the tag that had been sticking out from the drawer. It had "For" written on it, followed by a blank for the recipient's name, but nothing was written there. Anna stopped to admire the cute script on the tag, but quickly remembered her purpose and inspected the bottle for further clues, but she could find nothing. An unopened bottle of wine that was didn't seem to be intended for her had been left sitting in the tactician's desk, and it wasn't like him to forget such things. She supposed that before she got behind the counter of the store, she needed to understand why the bottle had been left there.

[...]

"So it will take us about three days' march to reach the harbor, and from there we can hope that the khans will be willing to do us a favor," Chrom recapped, pleased to be arriving at the meeting's conclusion.

"A safe assumption," Robin smiled, "given your history with Khan Regnant Flavia."

"'Our' history," he corrected, "Come on, Robin, don't be so modest."

"In any case, I'm sure they'd be happy to help. I've heard whispers that Valm has made threats on Regna Ferox, too," the tactician continued.

"And having a few extra soldiers on our side wouldn't hurt, either," Chrom observed, "Ylisse has precious few of those these days."

"But our first option is a peace talk, right?" Robin leered at his captain.

"Yes, yes, of course," the prince nodded, "You'll forgive me for being distrustful, Robin, but my interactions with other nations have been markedly hostile since the beginning of my representation of my country."

Robin nodded to himself, "That's fair. I did have a few sample strategies for limited engagements if we do happen to find ourselves in unfriendly circumstances."

"That's the Robin I know," Chrom prepared to give his comrade a pat on the back, "Always three steps ahead."

"Excuse me!" a voice from outside the tent groaned urgently. Robin and Chrom exchanged stares and shrugs and got up to address the call. When Chrom pulled back the tent flap, Anna stood before them, holding her stomach. "Ugh, Robin..." she mewled, making her brow crease.

He leapt out of the tent and put his hands on her, "Anna! What's the matter? Are you hurt? Feeling ill, perhaps?" She gave him a miserable nod. "Oh," he looked her over some more, "What's wrong? Indigestion? Food poisoning? Di-uh, I mean, intestinal trouble?"

"It's an emergency," she stuck out her bottom lip at Chrom, who was watching curiously, "just come over this way, please... I don't want Chrom to see..." Robin nodded quickly and helped his ailing wife limp her way over to the side of the prince's tent, whereupon she ceased her hobbling and stood straight, looking back at her husband. "Okay," she announced with a breath, "let's talk."

"Talk?" Robin paused, "I thought you said this was an emergency."

"It is," Anna took the bottle of scarlet liquid out from the satchel on her hip, "How did this find its way into your drawer?"

"Huh?" Robin cocked an eyebrow and stared at the bottle, "Oh... that was for you."

"And how do I know some other pretty little lass didn't just leave it there in a hurry, mister?" she tapped her foot.

Her husband frowned, "Because, as your husband, I hope you would trust me a little more than that." This didn't seem to convince his wife, who scoffed at the answer.

"Then ask Virion," he shrugged, "I bought it off of him."

Anna did a double-take and glanced back down at the bottle, "...This is Rosannien red wine?" Her husband nodded. "Isn't it crazy expensive because of the really strict manufacturing specifications?"

"How should I know?" the tactician gave up, "Virion told me it was good, and while I wasn't in any position to judge, I figured you'd like it, so I picked it up for a rainy day."

Anna smirked, "Well, it was pouring last night, why not get it out then?"

"It was dry as a wyvern's backside last night," he corrected her with confusion.

"It was a metaphor, Robin," she rolled her eyes, "Just tell me why you didn't get it out last night."

Her husband hesitated a second, evaluating her face to gauge how serious she was, then felt his face turn pink with compunction as he tried to get the words out, "W-Well, I just... sort of... forgot."

Anna shook her head dismissively, "Nonsense. You don't forget a thing unless you choose to."

"No, I swear, it's the truth," he defended, "I was... really enjoying your company, and so I just... I forgot to get it out, because... you know."

The merchant didn't know, and wanted her husband to enlighten her. She and Robin had spent the night together, but that had never distracted him so significantly before. To make sure she wasn't misremembering the facts, the redhead went through the entire series of events in her head. The only thing that had been out of the ordinary that evening was that they had almost been interrupted; the merchant had had to fly into a corner of the room and hide herself while the tactician buckled his pants back up just in time for Stahl to peer in and inquire about some brownies he'd made the camp for desert. Anna regretted not being able to request one of the confections. "But why? Why last night above any other?" she demanded.

"I was... my mind was on other things, that's all," he huffed, "I mean, I think you'd agree that last night was... er, different, right?"

She did. The previous evening had been a particularly exciting romp for the both of them. Anna couldn't quite get the sense as to why, but her tactician seemed filled with considerably more vigor than their usual romantic evenings, and he had even made the first gesture for the evening, which was about as rare as seeing a wolf and a hen get along. Anna hadn't thought to question it much at the moment, for she was enjoying it far too much, but something had definitely given her husband an extra edge. "Well, maybe," the redhead sighed, uncorking the wine lazily with deft fingers.

"Glad we got that sorted," her husband breathed impatiently, "Now, I need to get back in there before Chrom finds me out here and thinks I'm skipping work to day drink with you."

Anna took a swig and aimed the bottle at her husband, "You say that like it's a bad thing."

He blinked a few times, "It is a bad thing, Anna. I could get fired."

"So it's true!" she exclaimed, "You'd rather spend time with your boyfriend there than dear ol' me."

Robin looked around, searching to see if anyone else in the world were hearing this and could help him, "That's not at all what I said! I love spending time with you, I just-"

"Prove it," she cut him off and, without warning, locked their lips together and danced around his tongue with her own.

Robin pushed away the embrace, though not immediately, "What are you doing? Chrom's right in there, Anna! We're as good as dead if you go messing around like that!"

"Is that why you're sporting a roll of coins?" Anna giggled, covering her mouth and pointing at her betrothed's trousers. He cocked an eyebrow and followed her finger until he became aware of how tight his pants had suddenly become.

"Uh, that's...! Anna, we really can't be doing this," he begged.

She continued to giggle and smirk at him mercilessly, "No, seriously, that was, like, lightning quick. It usually takes at least a few minutes to get us there."

Robin's face was quickly burning red, "Well, I hope you're happy. I'm going to have to go back to Chrom trying to hide this... tension you gave me."

The merchant sputtered into a cackle at the thought, then recovered, "No, but seriously, you're not going back to Chrom with your coinpurse overflowing like that, right?"

"Do I have a choice?" he grumbled.

"Well, you could always let me finish what I started," the redhead mused, drawing close again, "I'm not cruel enough to abandon you like that."

"No!" he insisted, "What's the matter with you?! People could see us! We'd be breaking just about every code of conduct this camp has!"

Anna prepared to deliver another response that would elicit further embarrassment from her husband, as she was absolutely delighting in his torment at this point, but she also began piecing together his remarks in conjunction with their past evening and, suddenly, something clicked. Something that Anna found fascinating. She decided to test the waters, "Okay, okay, I've screwed with you enough. Just get back in there. Tell Chrom I accidentally ate some bad fish or something."

"Thank you," he sighed weightily with relief, though the blood stayed in his cheeks. Anna took note, however, that the blood seemed to quickly drain away from other parts of the tactician's shame. She took another gulp from the bottle of wine and thought out her plan.

[...]

It would happen in three minutes. Anna knew her husband's schedule well enough to know exactly how this meeting would play out, and knew exactly when her opportunity would present itself. The merchant settled herself in a nearby bush and waited, silent and motionless, until the tactician emerged from Miriel's tent. He gave the loquacious mage a smiling farewell that was not returned as he proceeded down the path, past Tharja's tent, and over to Maribelle's, where he called out and waited, whistling, as Maribelle prepared for his visit, as she did customarily. It was this time that the redhead used to yank her husband back behind the noble lady's tent. He yelped as she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him over, "Hey Robin!"

"'Hey' yourself," he breathed, clutching his chest, "You scared me half to death, Anna."

"Sorry," she put her finger on her chin and pouted facetiously, "I wanted to ask you something, though."

"More about this wine business?" his eyes narrowed.

"No," she shook her head, "Well, not really. I was wondering if we could get together and have a little more fun this evening."

The tactician blushed and rubbed his neck, but showed little sign of true distress, "Uh, I'm... That is, I'd be happy to, but isn't it a little soon? We can't pull that kind of stunt too often or someone will catch on."

Anna was barely listening to the answer and lent her attention to her husband's pants instead. Before he could notice this, however, she responded, "Oh, yeah. I guess we could always do it now, when nobody's expecting it. Maribelle most especially. Can you imagine the look on her face if she saw?"

"No!" now he was blushing hard, "I most definitely can't! And I don't want to try, either!"

"Ah-ha!" the merchant proclaimed triumphantly, "I knew it!"

"What?" her husband looked around fitfully.

His wife pointed again to his pants, "Just as I suspected. That's what happened last night. You've got a thing for having people watch, is that it, Robin?"

The tactician's eyes doubled in size, "W-WHAT?! N-No! That's not true at all! That can't be!"

His garments, however, did not lie, nor did his physiology, "At least the idea of it, anyway," Anna shrugged playfully, "Accept it, Robin: you're a Class A exhibitionist. No wonder, too: you're always trying to make yourself stand out."

"None of this is the least bit true!" he squirmed, covering himself.

The redhead continued to tease, "It's okay, hon. I can live with you being a total pervert, just as long as you're open and honest about it."

"I... I'm not... that isn't..." his mouth hung loose and empty.

"Might as well shout it to the world," his wife gestured with her hands, "Yell it out: 'My name is Robin, and I get off on people watching me- uuf!"

The taunt was cut short as Robin tackled his wife to the ground in a desperate attempt to keep her silent, "S-Stop that! Do you want me to die of shame?!"

The redhead flashed him a toothy grin and slid tenderly against the pressure between the two of them, "If shame makes you so bold, I wouldn't mind..."

"Knock it off!" he pleaded.

"Make me," she stuck out her tongue.

Seeing that as the only option, Robin cupped a hand over his wife's mouth and used the other to snag up her legs in an effort to drag her away. She wriggled from his grip, however, and opened her mouth again, but her husband flew back on top of her and held her face to the dirt. "Don't you dare!" he hissed. Anna struggled a bit against this hold, kicking her legs limply, but then realized his weight was too much and relented. When he felt that she had settled down, the tactician let his wife's head up a little, "Now, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"More," she mewled, staring amorously at him.

"What?" he lent and ear down near her.

"Do it more," she demanded in a raspy voice.

Robin stared blankly, "Do what more?"

"Mm," she grunted, "Pull my arms back. Hold my legs. Push my face into the dirt."

Robin looked around again, beginning to suspect that this was all some sort of personal nightmare, "What in the world is happening today?"

"You can spank me, too. I know I've been a bad girl."

"Gods give me strength."

[...]

"Ah, pardon, Mademoiselle Tharja? I don't mean to intrude," Virion provided, taking a few tenuous steps into the tent, "I was only looking to see if you had- ah, there it is!"

The dark mage emerged from the shadows almost on cue, "What are you doing in here, you shaft-slinging dandy?"

"Nothing sinister, my dear, I promise it!" the archer put his hands out, "I remembered you had come by yesterday to sample some of my wine and wondered if I might have it back." Virion's eyes indicated a bottle of crimson liquid perched prominently in the center of a table in the middle of Tharja's tent. Strewn around it were copious notes on various hexes and jarred ingredients for said hexes, all in various condition.

"That's not your wine, you polyamorous peacock," she growled, "that's a potion I've been working on for weeks. Just breathing a hint of it releases certain natural inclinations in the body and makes them very, very apparent. Quite useful for experimentation on a certain target..."

"What kind of inclinations?" the archest of archers wondered aloud.

Tharja smiled wickedly, "Let's just say it makes one's true self known to all. And it's very... seductive."

"...I see," Virion eventually blurted, despite not understanding a thing, "and you are certain that this is not my wine?"

"No," the raven-haired girl spat, "Why would I be in possession of your spirits?"

"Correct me if I am wrong, my dear, but you know quite a bit about possessing spirits, no?" the archer chuckled. His attempt at humor fell flat at the feet of the Plegian mage, however. "Ahem, but, in any case, what did I give to Sir Robin?"

Tharja's eyes flashed, "What?"

"I asked you yesterday if you wished to share some of the wine from my homeland with me, but you told me instead to give you the wine, that you would treat it to purify it and improve its taste, and when I returned shortly thereafter, you handed me the bottle, quite rudely, if I may be frank, and told me to 'Do as you like with it, you dotard of a duke!'"

Hearing the story, Tharja uncorked the bottle on her table and sniffed its scent for a moment. When that failed to satisfy her, she poured it out onto the ground, causing several blades of grass to shrivel up and die before her eyes.

"Oh no."

 **[AN]: So, I tried a little something different with this one, a bit more risqué than is my habit. What do you think? Did you enjoy it, or was it too much? I'd love to hear your feedback, and if your opinion is the latter, don't worry, I plan to have something a little more family-friendly coming up in a few days.**


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